


we are an avalanche

by beccasaur



Category: Marvel
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beccasaur/pseuds/beccasaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most lethal weapon in all of Russia is <i>nervous</i>, and it's because of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are an avalanche

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Avengers Rare Pair Makeout Fest with the prompts snow and first kiss.
> 
> Title from Avalanche by Kerrigan and Lowdermilk.

“Natalia.”

She turns to look at him, long hair spilling over her shoulders. He looks the same as he always does, sombre expression, dressed in black from head to toe, gloves shielding his metal hand from view as much as they are protecting him from the elements.

He's Winter Soldier; she's pretty sure that the snow doesn't bother him.

“It's Katya tonight, remember?” 

There is laughter in her voice; she doesn't know why she feels as light as the snow falling around them, but she does.

It could be anticipation, knowing that all the planning will come to a head tonight, although Natalia doubts it; she's been on missions before. 

Or perhaps it's because she's dressed up for the first time in months, dress taking the place of the catsuit she usually wears. Her hair is curled, her make up done. She doesn't have to be a shadow, she just has to be on the target's arm, pretty as a picture, and strike when the time is right.

Of course she is armed. The dress she's wearing, a darker red than her hair, might leave little to the imagination, but Natalia still has a gun strapped to her thigh, she still has knives hidden in her boots—and if all else fails, she'll use her bare hands. She's good at that, too.

She's prepared, and she always takes her missions seriously, but that doesn't mean that she can't enjoy herself; there is precious little time for that, in the Red Room, but she enjoys using her skills, she enjoys a good cover story, and nothing is going to stop her enjoying tonight.

It almost feels magical, and she can't put her finger on why. 

“ _Katya_ ,” he says, deliberate, and she knows that he's humouring her now, but it's enough to make her smile at him.

“James,” she returns innocently, and there's that moment of warmth in his eyes that he gets when she calls him by his name, the faintest reminder that he's a man and not a machine.

She's never thought that, though. They can be shaped and programmed, emotions can be stripped away and efficiency can become key, but they're still people. All of them are, with blood coursing through their veins and hearts that might even remember how to beat, occasionally. 

She's a person, she's human, though there are times when she doubts it.

So is he.

It's just harder to see, with James, but it's there. She sees him as a man, maybe even a good one, and he's a man that she likes. 

(She shouldn't, she knows that she shouldn't, but she does.)

(Sometimes she even thinks that he likes her too.)

She can hear the snow crunch beneath his feet as he steps towards her, closing the all too professional gap that had been between them, and she tilts her head to the side, watching him. He just stands there, for a moment, still; his gaze is intense, searching her face and then lingering on her lips. She can see that he's holding back so much. 

Maybe he's trying to talk himself into – or out of – something. Maybe he just doesn't know what he really wants.

It's not like that matters. None of them get what they want, do they?

“Do you know the plan?” he asks, finally, and _of course_ she knows the plan. The roll of her eyes confirms this, and he chuckles, shaking his head. Stupid, that says. Of course she does. He knew that. 

It wasn't what he really wanted to say, though. Whatever that is, though, whatever he choked on, the words still aren't coming.

He needs a little time. Natalia has somewhere she needs to be, but she can wait; it's like time has stood still, in this moment, like there is just the two of them, and she wants – she _needs_ – to know what he's thinking behind that impenetrable expression.

So she waits, eyes on him. There's no judgement in her gaze. She's not pressuring him. She's just letting him work through whatever he's trying to work through.

Eventually, his hand reaches out, brushing flakes of snow from her shoulder, though they're quickly replaced by fresh ones. 

It doesn't matter; it's not the action that's important. 

“I like you like this.” He's weighing his words carefully, every single one a well-thought out decision. 

Natalia smiles, twirling in a circle, a pirouette the Bolshoi would be proud of. She could have been a ballerina, after all.

“Maybe I'll get to keep the dress.”

He shakes his head emphatically, and this time, his fingers tangle in her hair. She's pretty sure that her breath catches in her throat, and as his hand moves to cup her cheek, she finds herself leaning into it. 

“No, no, not that. It's—you're laughing. I don't think I've ever heard you laugh.”

He probably hasn't; they train together. They talk when they're alone, they work missions together. Sometimes he's her support, sometimes he's her partner. If he does hear her laugh, it's an act for cover.

This is real.

“I just...like it.”

Winter Soldier is so sure of himself, he never says anything he doesn't need to. This is different. It takes a moment for it to click, and then she's laughing again; he's nervous. 

The most lethal weapon in all of Russia is _nervous_ , and it's because of her.

“James.”

Her voice is softer, this time. He looks like he might shut down at any moment, remember that he's not supposed to feel anything, and she doesn't want that. Not yet. She's not ready for that yet. 

He needs to remember how to be a man, and she can help him with that.

She wants to help him.

He's frozen, but that's okay. Natalia can do this for him, she can be the one to take the leap. She's got less programming to fight against.

So she does. She steps closer, brushes snowflakes from his eyelashes with a touch that is feather light. Gentle, now, like she might spook him. 

It's easy to slide her arms around his neck, to lean in and just breathe the same air for a moment.

And then she presses her lips to his, gently; his hand moves to the back of her head, holding her in, the other on her waist. It's slow, just the press of lips and nothing more, but he's kissing her, and she's kissing him, and it feels like everything Natalia's ever wanted.

That does it, reminds her of how long they've been waiting for this, how it's like everything has been building to this moment. Her heart is pounding in her chest, so hard it might beat its way out; it's not used to feeling anything, after all. They're kissing hungrily, and as she opens her mouth, his tongue slides inside with a certainty that wasn't there before.

Perhaps all he needed was to know that she felt it too. That she wouldn't report him, get him put back on ice. She's not sure she knows what _it_ is, but she wants more.

“Natalia,” he breathes when they part, leaning his forehead against hers. She doesn't say anything, doesn't correct him this time; why would she, when she likes to hear him stay her name.

They stay like that for several moments, heads touching, his breath warm on her face. It's not until she hears a bell toll in the distance that Natalia remembers she has a date, someone to kill, and to miss it would be to give them both up before they've had the chance to explore this.

“I have to go,” she tells him, and he nods, cupping her face in both his hands so he can kiss her again, something inside her yearning for more. Not now.

Confirming her thoughts, he pulls away, promising, “Later. I'll see you after.” 

And then he's gone, lost to the snow and the shadows, leaving Natalia to pull herself together and focus on the mission.

It's not like it's the first time that she's been kissed, or anything, but it's the first time that it's been for her, that it's meant something. 

This isn't a game, anymore. This is real.

This is the most real thing in her life.


End file.
